


I Won't Fall (Unless You Ask Me To)

by idlestories



Series: Canon Era Series [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur is a bit dense, First Kiss, Getting Together, Humor, Jealous Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), M/M, Promiscuous Merlin, no magic reveal, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26218519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idlestories/pseuds/idlestories
Summary: '“Is there a problem with what I do with my free time, Sire? I was under the impression I could socialise as I wished.”“Is that what you call it?” Arthur muttered before he could stop himself.'Arthur can't figure out why he's so perturbed to discover Merlin has a certain reputation in the castle. He takes it out on everyone, naturally. Gwen and Morgana give him pitying looks and dead legs, respectively, and Merlin ignores him until even he loses patience and demands to know why.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Canon Era Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915840
Comments: 42
Kudos: 534





	I Won't Fall (Unless You Ask Me To)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fanfic after about a decade lurking on AO3, and about six months consuming Merlin fic like it's going out of style. (I was very late to the fandom, okay). Constructive criticism very welcome, on both content and formatting, if I fucked either up.
> 
> Title from Phoebe Bridgers - Steamroller

Arthur trailed his fingers along the wall as he climbed the stairs, idly contemplating the possibility of dropping his armour in some mud to get back at Merlin. Even not paying attention, Arthur knew every inch of the castle, and as his hand brushed against some fabric it only took a few steps for him to register that there should be no tapestry in this stairwell. He frowned, and turned in time to hear a whispered curse and see Merlin freeze. Merlin shoved at something in the alcove and... wiped his mouth?

“Sire,” he said coolly.

“Merlin,” Arthur responded, looking him up and down. He was oddly flushed, his lips red and looking even more than usual as though he had been dragged through a bush backwards. He looked at Arthur as though he wished dearly to avoid looking him in the eye, but instead, in typical Merlin fashion, had decided to maintain as much eye contact as possible.

“What are you doing here, Merlin? Shouldn’t you be doing something useful for Gaius? Or floating ineffectually about my chambers with a duster?”

“It’s my day off, Sire, I believe that means I can do what I like, actually.”

“Is that why you weren’t at training?” Arthur frowned. “I saw you this morning. I don’t remember giving you the day off.”

“You didn’t. Morgana did.”

“She can’t do that, you work for me.”

“I’m proud to serve the entire royal household, Sire.”

“That would be rather the opposite of serving, Merlin. Why did Morgana decide you could have the day off anyway?” Merlin’s eyes slid to the left and he took a step up towards Arthur, followed by another. Arthur stared at him, bemused.

“What on earth are you doing? Have I got something on my face?” Merlin arrived on the same step as Arthur and hesitated.

“It’s my birthday?” he tried.

“What?”

“That’s why Morgana gave me the day off.”

“Merlin, I distinctly remember giving you time off for your birthday and I distinctly remember it being less than a year ago. Did you lie to Morgana?”

“No, I…” Merlin’s gaze went to the right as he tried to take another step past Arthur, but Arthur looked down to where Merlin had been standing, his face frozen in amusement. Merlin sighed as the boy who had just emerged from the alcove bowed so low he almost hit his head on a higher step. Taking Arthur’s silence for disapproval, the boy jumped up and cleared his throat.

“Your Highness!”

“Who are you?” Arthur asked rudely, his face unreadable. The boy opened his mouth, but was cut off by Merlin.

“Arthur, leave it. Finn, it’s fine, go on.”

The boy looked between them, uncertain at Merlin’s sharp tone, and finding no objection – or, indeed, much of anything - in Arthur’s face, backed down a few more steps before turning and hurrying away. Arthur turned to face Merlin, who shrugged.

“I tried to let him get away. You didn’t have to stare at him like that, you arse. I hear from other people that it’s sometimes rather intimidating.”

“What were you doing with him? Who is he, anyway?” Arthur asked, dimly aware that this shouldn’t matter nearly as much as it did. Merlin looked like he was having the same thought, but leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms.

“A friend. He works in the kitchens.” Arthur glanced at the alcove, and several uncomfortable thoughts that had been lazily rolling around his brain suddenly coalesced.

“Awfully tight meeting spot for a friend, isn’t it?” Merlin simply raised an eyebrow.

“Is there a problem with what I do with my free time, Sire? I was under the impression I could socialise as I wished.”

“Is that what you call it?” Arthur muttered before he could stop himself. Merlin’s lips tightened.

“Can I go now? I’m sure I have something useful to do for Gaius, as you so kindly pointed out.”

“No. You still haven’t told me why Morgana gave you the day off, for a start.” Merlin sighed.

“Fine, you caught me, she didn’t, I’m skiving. Happy?”

“What, was it _Finn_ ’s day off too?” Arthur mentally cursed himself as soon as the words left his mouth. Merlin stared at him in disbelief.

“I thought you could manage one training session without your personal training dummy. Although God knows you need the practice. I won’t do it again, you’re right as always, Sire.” Arthur snorted, momentarily distracted, but cleared his throat awkwardly as Merlin moved to leave.

“Are you and…” Merlin smirked.

“Finn,” he supplied. Arthur waved a hand, irritated.

“Involved?” He finished. Merlin laughed.

“No, Arthur. It’s just some fun. You remember fun? You don’t have to worry about my dowry just yet.” Arthur made a rude gesture and Merlin laughed again. He looked at Arthur expectantly.

“So? Are you finished? May I continue floating about ineffectually?” God, Arthur hated that uncanny ability to remember his phrasing. He tried to think of some other reason to continue interrogating Merlin, or, failing that, generally inconvenience him, but finding none, he just frowned at him.

“I expect you back at dinner, you know.”

“If I must.”

“Go on, then.” Merlin gave Arthur an odd little look for a fraction of a second, then lazily saluted and took off up the stairs, two at a time. Arthur stood for a moment, feeling oddly wrongfooted. Since when did Merlin have a social life, anyway?

* * *

Since always, apparently. Since cornering a very amused Gwen, Arthur had learnt that his manservant had... something of a reputation among the servants, it seems. He grimaced at the memory of Gwen’s face when he had, apparently, let something of his shock show on his own. She had snorted in a rather unladylike manner, quickly covered her face with a hand, and finally patted Arthur gently on the arm, which he didn’t really understand, but it’s possible he was still processing the concept of Merlin as the castle bicycle.

He leaned back in his chair and picked at the end of the quill he was supposed to be using. Had he really thought Merlin interacted only with Arthur, the knights and Gwen and Morgana? No, he gave himself some credit; he (generously, even, he thought) expected Merlin to have friends. The man was somewhat charming, if in a gormless kind of way and in the moments between tripping over his own feet. Arthur was prepared for friends, as long as he didn’t have to actually be aware of them. What he was not prepared for was the idea of Merlin as some sort of bloody Casanova.

Gwen had hesitated to tell him, but reasoned aloud that Merlin had never shown any sign that he minded people knowing and talking about him. She hastened to tell him that it really was the best kind of reputation Merlin had, anyway. No scandals, no married women (or men – well, none whose wives weren’t fully aware, but she decided to leave that part out in deference to the traces of Arthur’s scandalised expression that were still visible on his face), nothing serious and definitely no (here she had giggled and hesitated again, before shrugging and finishing) unsatisfied lovers. Arthur had sputtered and she had given him that vaguely pitying look again as he schooled his expression into something more detached and royal.

Arthur didn’t realise he had been bending the quill between his hands until it snapped, jolting him out of thought. He scowled at the pieces. He would have to tell Merlin to -. He shook his head, expelling Merlin from his thoughts just as the real thing clattered through the door, tray wobbling. He rolled his eyes as it was set down with a flourish.

* * *

“Yes, well done Merlin, you managed not to drop anything off the one, single, tray you had to carry.” A fork pinged to the ground, and Merlin made a face at him as he bent to retrieve it while Arthur smirked. He held it out, and (damn him) seeing the idea of demanding a new one form in Arthur’s mind, blew on it theatrically, wiped it on his shirt and lined it up carefully beside the plate. Arthur stared at it for a second, thinking mildly unsavoury thoughts about Merlin and blowing and Merlin’s shirt and Merlin’s mouth. Merlin lightly kicked him from where he had already sat himself down at the other chair.

“Have you forgotten how to eat now, Sire? Has reading those reports pushed that skill out of your little blond head?”

“Very funny, Merlin. If you must know, I was thinking about designing a sort of bell to wear as I walk the public areas of the castle, just to warn any unsuspecting servants lurking in alcoves of my presence. Or, better yet, some kind of chamber with a door, and a lock, perhaps.” Merlin stuck his tongue out and leaned back, snagging a grape from Arthur’s tray.

“Yes, yes, you’re terribly disappointed in me, I’m sure you’ll get over finding your manservant –”

“Canoodling?” Arthur suggested grumpily. Merlin cackled.

“Canoodling? What age are you, anyway?” He stood, pushing back the chair and stretching, and Arthur was momentarily extremely distracted by the strip of skin revealed where his tunic rode up.

“Yes, well. Don’t let me catch you again,” he said sourly.

“You’ve never caught me before in four years,” Merlin pointed out cheerfully, half-heartedly poking through the pile of laundry in the corner.

“Just how much has there been to catch, anyway?” Arthur asked, suddenly emboldened by his Gwen-provided gossip. Merlin turned and raised his eyebrows.

“Why, are you jealous, Sire?” he looked surprised that he’d said it himself, but Arthur was too busy sputtering at the suggestion to notice. Merlin gave a crooked little smile.

“Alright, alright, I’m too hideous for the Crown Prat of Camelot, point made, my lord.” Arthur had never been so thrown so many times in one afternoon.

“Merlin, I –”

“Arthur,” Merlin said more quietly, “It’s fine, really.” Arthur felt oddly guilty as he watched him gather up a random three-quarters of the laundry and disappear out of his chambers. He knew he couldn’t have hurt Merlin’s feelings, not really, not with (he thought bitterly) his apparent popularity. He still felt sort of ill though, and when the face of that idiot kitchen boy flashed into his mind as he went to bed, his stomach twisted unpleasantly.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Arthur wondered more than once whether Merlin was doing it on purpose. He wouldn’t be surprised. He supposed, begrudgingly, that at least one of the incidents was not Merlin’s fault, although if he had caught Merlin anywhere in the vicinity in the five minutes following his own blushing exit from the place where he was decidedly not eavesdropping on the laundry girls, he would have found a way to blame him.

Three more times, in three weeks, he had managed to find Merlin either entangled with some serving girl, or, on the last occasion, leaving an empty room directly after the kitchen boy from the stairwell, who, unaware Arthur was staring, whistled and adjusted his hair and breeches as he headed off. Merlin had emerged after him, looking only slightly more put together, and had stopped in his tracks at the sight of Arthur before continuing down the corridor, calling out behind him,

“You didn’t technically catch me!”

* * *

Arthur spent that evening moodily and tipsily examining the uncomfortable feeling that had shoved its way to the top when he saw Merlin exit the room after the boy. Merlin didn’t usually provoke any feelings in Arthur. ( _Lie_ , his mind supplied.) Fine, he provoked annoyance. Murderous rage, a few times a year. Worry, if Arthur was to get soppy about it and think about Merlin trailing after him everywhere, bereft of both armour and the sense of self-preservation God gave a stoat. After another goblet of wine, he was even prepared to admit that he cared for Merlin, liked him, for some reason. Generally wanted to see him safe and happy. Hell, wanted to _make_ him safe and happy. Arthur frowned. That had taken a turn.

He poured another wine, ignoring the Merlin-voice in his head muttering about hangovers and responsibility and training tomorrow morning. God, he was such a nag sometimes. Arthur wondered if he was more fun in bed and concluded, somewhat grumpily, that his apparent popularity implied that he was. Well, he supposed Merlin didn’t call his… _conquests_ lazy arseholes, or disappear off frolicking in the woods when he was supposed to spend time with them. Work for them. Whatever. The Merlin-in-bed train of thought gathered momentum, unbidden. He would definitely be needy, Arthur thought uncharitably. He would end up doing all the work. His partner, that was. The image of Merlin and some faceless bloke swam in his mind and he scowled, and pushed it away. His hazy brain responded with a very detailed imagining of the feeling of Merlin’s lips on his.

He blinked, and eyed the wine suspiciously. He didn’t – it was safer not to – his father – He winced at the memory of his father’s rather public reaction to discovering what had in fact been Arthur’s first kiss, dragging him by the ear to his chambers where a door did little to dampen Uther’s roaring about propriety and the natural way of things. Arthur swirled the wine in the goblet and almost set it down. He contemplated knocking back the rest of it, and did so in a moment of displaced rebellion. He stood and wobbled over to bed, throwing himself on it fully clothed, and fell asleep to the disturbingly comforting thought of a cool hand smoothing his hair.

* * *

Arthur woke the next morning on entirely the wrong side of sunrise and what he considered real, proper daytime, neither rested nor precisely sober. Considering the beginnings of a spectacular headache that was itself waking up inside his skull, he recalled with unease the direction his thoughts had taken as he stumbled to bed. He decided morosely that getting up at such an ungodly hour was, in the end, a small price to pay for not having to look Merlin in the eye this morning, and fumbled his way into a change of clothes to go beg some food from the kitchen.

Toast obtained - he had eyed the glistening meat hopefully but his stomach had made its position quite clear – he sat on the castle wall as the mist started to lift from the lower town. He thought about throwing the last bite of toast over the edge for some fortunate pigeon to find, but guiltily shoved it in his mouth at the thought of the waste. Before he could even chew, however, he was assaulted with the image of Merlin holding it to his lips. He slowly resumed eating as his mind swirled unhappily with confirmation that the wine was not, it appeared, totally to blame.

Arthur set his mouth in a line and decided to examine this thought with all the grim determination he usually applied to battle plans. Was Merlin right? Was he jealous? He had rarely had cause to be jealous in his youth, excepting of course Morgana but that was mostly for the sake of annoying her, and (more truthfully) for the indulgence afforded her by Uther. He knew he wasn’t jealous of the kitchen urchin, that’s for sure, with his stupid hair and watery little eyes. Christ, he thought with a sinking feeling, did he really fancy Merlin? He hadn’t been thrilled to overhear the laundry girls giggling about Merlin’s skill, he admitted. He supposed he could theoretically be jealous of Merlin’s… (he grimaced) prowess, but an unhappy, truthful little voice in the back of his mind told him that wasn’t it either.

Nothing else for it, then. Arthur squared his shoulders, shut his eyes, and tried to imagine having sex with Merlin. He was attractive enough, he supposed. Once you got past the ears and the wardrobe and the general audacity of him. He stopped, shook his head and refocused, deciding to go back a few steps in the process, and thought about kissing Merlin. His eyes flew open and he stared determinedly into the rising sun to stave off the onslaught of images that had brought along with it. Not just kissing Merlin, no, but touching his hair, holding his hand, lying beside him as he slept. He blinked, the after-image of the sun sending spots repeating over the town gates in the distance. Oh, this was bad. Arthur was not (shut up) a stupid man. Now that he had properly examined the thing, he realised with dread exactly what was happening. He’d gone and fallen for the idiot, hadn’t he?

* * *

Arthur crept through the slowly stirring castle like a thief, keeping one eye out for that bloody neckerchief and the eyes and the mouth and – he paled, and crept faster. He arrived at Morgana’s door and hesitated, his hand held up to knock, but the dilemma was taken out of his hands by Gwen opening the door in his face.

“Shit!” she exclaimed, “Shit, sorry, wait, shit!” She closed her mouth with an audible click, took a breath, closed her eyes and opened them again, frankly scarily composed.

“My lord. Good morning.”

“Guinevere,” Arthur said slowly, bemused. She looked expectantly at him.

“Did you want something?” She asked. “You look… tired,” she added, peering at him. “Have you slept yet?” Her hand rose towards his hair seemingly of its own accord and stopped. “Sorry! You were saying?”

“I…wasn’t.” She stared some more. “Morgana,” he said finally, snapping his fingers. “I was going to talk to Morgana.”

“Now?” Gwen looked perplexed, then remembered herself. “I mean, obviously you can do things at whatever time you –”

“Is she up?” Arthur interrupted, running a hand over his face.

“Yes,” Gwen said, “I’ll tell her you’re here.” As she turned, Morgana appeared behind her, looking both unfairly pristine and unduly amused for this time of the morning.

“Brother dear,” she greeted, looking him up and down. “God, Gwen’s right, you do look like shit.”

“I didn’t –” Arthur cut Gwen off again.

“I’m aware. Can I talk to you?” Morgana examined him some more, then shrugged and stepped back to let him in. Arthur patiently looked at Gwen, whose eyes had drifted back up to his hair, and cleared his throat.

“Oh! Right. I’ll just – bye, Arthur. Sire.” Gwen gave a sunny smile, cast a final concerned glance at Arthur’s entire being (or so it felt), and hurried off from between them, looking back over her shoulder as Morgana let him in and shut the door.

* * *

Arthur’s shoulders slumped even further as the door closed behind him and he ignored Morgana entirely in favour of throwing himself face-down on her freshly-made bed. She sighed.

“What is it now, Arthur?”

“Do you have anything to drink?” he asked hopefully, raising his head from the covers. Morgana’s eyebrows approached her hairline.

“Water?” she asked. Arthur groaned.

“Never mind.”

“What on earth has Uther done now?” she asked.

“Not Uther,” Arthur replied, voice muffled. Morgana rose from her chair and carefully lay down beside him, top to tail, smoothing her dress and hair as she went. She waited in silence for a few minutes, then poked Arthur’s cheek with her bare foot. He made a vague, uncoordinated attempt to smack her, and turned onto his back with a sigh.

“Come on, then, what is it? You’re starting to concern me more than usual.” Arthur was quiet.

“It’s Merlin, isn’t it?” His eyes shot open.

“How did you – no - it’s - have you ever,” he started, “you know, with a servant?” She eyed him with distaste.

“God, you don’t fancy Gwen, do you? I would never let you court her, just to be clear. She deserves better.”

“Fuck you, Morgana.”

“Ooh, it’s not that odd ginger boy from the kitchens, is it? He winked at me last week, but I can’t say I see the appeal.” Arthur raised himself up on his elbows and narrowed his eyes at Morgana, who was trying valiantly to keep a straight face. She gave in.

“Fine, fine” she laughed, “Gwen told me about your sudden interest in gossip last week.” Arthur groaned again.

“Is nothing a secret in this castle?”

“Not from Gwen, and therefore not from me, no,” she said smugly. Arthur made a face.

“So what do I do?”

“About what?”

“Morgana, don’t be –”

“If you can’t even say it, I definitely can’t help you.”

“Fine, so I like him. So?”

“So what? I’m glad you’ve finally caught on, goodbye now.”

“So what do I _do_ , Morgana, don’t be obtuse.”

“Oh Arthur, have you finally encountered a problem you can’t smack with a sword?”

“Shut up,” he said, without heat, then, sadly, “That would be so much easier.” Morgana was silent. She really could be infuriatingly patient, but only when it suited her. “I can’t…” he stopped, willing her to understand.

“Why not?” she said calmly.

“Because… everything.”

“Everything being Uther? Or the fact he’s a servant? Or the fact he’s a he? Because I really didn’t think that was a problem, not after letting you hide in my room after –” Arthur flipped her off. She continued, musing, “Or is it that giant stick of repression up your arse that you wish was actually –”

“Morgana,” he warned. She grinned and waited expectantly. He threw his forearm over his eyes. “Pick one,” he mumbled.

“They’re all bullshit if you like him, Arthur.”

“What if he doesn’t like me?” Morgana looked at him until he uncovered his face and met her gaze. He rolled his eyes.

“God, why do people keep looking at me like that? Do you and Gwen practise together?”

“Yes Arthur, because we have nothing better to talk about than how pathetic you are.” He glared at her, then sighed.

“I don’t want him to feel… obliged, alright?”

“Ugh.”

“What?”

“It’s a very noble concern and all, but it’s like you’re being deliberately stupid. Merlin is the last person on this earth you need to worry about feeling pressured into something, particularly by you. He can’t even be pressured into doing his job, for God’s sake, and he would cheerfully argue black was white just to wind you up.” Arthur made an unhappy noise. Morgana shoved him with her foot.

“This is getting pathetic,” she announced, “and noisy. Grow up and talk to your little crush. You can’t keep acting like a jealous prick, it’s getting on everyone’s nerves – and don’t start saying you haven’t been, because we’ve already established I hear everything.”

“I can’t make a move. It wouldn’t be right.” He said stubbornly. Morgana rolled her eyes.

“You insecure twat, you approach everything else in life like a herd of stampeding boars, what’s different now?” Arthur was quiet.

“More to lose,” he said finally. Morgana’s expression softened for the briefest of seconds, but she sat upright, contemplated Arthur still staring morosely at the ceiling, and thumped him hard on the thigh. He choked and almost fell off the bed in his haste to get away, only to discover his leg was dead as he tried to stand. He held onto the bedpost, glaring at her.

“More to gain, idiot,” she said, rising and carefully staying out of reach as she walked around him to open the door. “Now get out.”

* * *

Arthur stared at the closed door, trying to shake the feeling back into his leg and thinking bitterly about the shouting match that had ensued when Uther had referred to a teenage Morgana as ‘delicate’ within her earshot. His head throbbed. He thought wistfully of his bed, but it was still early enough that he might run into Merlin, and Morgana had not been quite helpful enough for that, yet. At least she hadn’t laughed at him. Much.

He thought glumly for a moment about the very fact of being desperate enough to ask Morgana for relationship advice. Of course she’d say ‘talk to him.’ Women. He shook his leg out a final time and limped off in the direction of the kitchens, begrudgingly grateful that at least his stomach had stopped threatening to lead a rebellion.

He wondered as he walked who would be most satisfying to spar with in training today, steadily ignoring the memory of Morgana’s comment about beating up his problems. Gwaine had been irritatingly amused by Arthur’s bad mood all week, and had so far escaped the worst of it. And, Arthur thought with a moment of horrible clarity, Gwaine was friends with Merlin. And given both the rate Merlin had apparently been going and Gwaine’s tendency to flirt with whoever had the misfortune to exist in his presence, odds were distressingly good that they had already - Arthur’s frown deepened. Yes, he thought, Gwaine could use some mace practice.

* * *

Even Gwaine’s usual easy grin had faded significantly by the end of the session, which Arthur had insisted on continuing all afternoon when the weather might have, on another day, persuaded him to abandon it in favour of a hunt, or messing about in the woods in the guise of one. As they finished the last match, Gwaine had refused Arthur’s hand up, pushing back his hair and pointing a finger at Arthur before Leon got between them and shoved Gwaine off towards the armoury.

Arthur had been almost disappointed. Beating the shit out of his knights had done precisely nothing for his mood – had arguably worsened it, in fact, by providing a library of noises Gwaine might have made for Merlin, once. Training had rarely let him down before, and he was determined to find a way to blame Morgana and her ‘talk to him’ nonsense and her stupid, pitying looks. Arthur glared at his sword for a moment before trudging up towards the castle to get ready for dinner, at which, he knew, he would be forced to see Merlin for the first time that day.

* * *

Merlin was not, in fact, a deaf and blind peasant at the other end of the kingdom, and as such, it had not escaped his notice that Arthur was being particularly unreasonable that week. He was being just awful about it, in Arthur’s slightly-guilty opinion. He knew perfectly well it was his fault, but God it was aggravating when his manservant not only kept his snarky comments to a minimum, but truly meant them when he did say them. Merlin entered Arthur’s chambers, glared at him a little, set the dinner tray down with more force than necessary and stood back, turning pointedly to look out the window. Arthur was distantly annoyed, but found himself tracing the outline of Merlin’s shoulders against the light.

“…Chicken?” he said abruptly after a long silence. Merlin’s shoulders slumped slightly.

“What?”

“Do you… want some?” Merlin eyed him suspiciously.

“You’ve never offered me any of your food before,” he said, adding as Arthur opened his mouth, “Not directly, anyway.”

“If you don’t want any –”

“Did I say that?” Merlin said stiffly, but he took a seat and lifted a rather larger piece than Arthur had intended.

When they had finished, Merlin having grown bolder and bolder with Arthur’s plate during the meal, he poured himself a wine without asking.

“Are you going to tell me what it is that bothers you so much, Arthur? Or am I supposed to guess?” he said suddenly. Arthur jerked from where he had been contemplating Merlin’s hand around the goblet.

“What?”

“You’ve been acting like an arse for weeks, and don’t think I haven’t noticed it gets worse every time you see that I’ve been,” his lip twitched even as his eyes remained serious, “Canoodling with someone. Do I embarrass you?” He asked, taking another sip and looking deliberately unbothered. Arthur shook his head.

“Merlin, no –”

“Are you that much of a prude, then? Have you never – or is it the fact that sometimes it’s men? I know some people find that – your father, for one - they aren’t…modern about these things –”

“It’s not–” Arthur faltered. “It doesn’t –,” he slumped a little. “He’s not… modern… for me either, anyway,” he finished lamely. Merlin let a little of his surprise show on his face but ploughed on.

“What, then? I’m not forcing anybody, they’re all of age and I’ve,” he paused, assessing how far he could go, and continued, a tiny hint of smugness showing through, “not had any complaints.” Arthur’s mind helpfully played an image of him kissing that maddeningly amused look off Merlin’s stupid face. He looked away.

“It’s nothing,” he said finally, stiffly, “Of course you may do as you wish in your spare time. Please accept my apologies.” Merlin’s face dropped the smirk and he looked at Arthur seriously, too seriously.

“No, Arthur, that’s not what I –”

“Then what Merlin?” Arthur said, impatiently, “What did you hope to gain from this conversation?” He clenched his hand on the table and went to move, to get away from Merlin’s serious face. Merlin caught his wrist and held it there with surprising strength when Arthur pulled back more.

“Merlin, I could have you –”

“Yes, yes, stocks, do shut up Arthur. Look at me, will you?”

“This conversation is over.” Arthur knew he was being childish, but if he had to look into Merlin’s eyes for another second he thought he might be sick.

“Is it?” Merlin asked mildly. He loosened his grip on Arthur’s wrist and Arthur twitched as Merlin traced down to his hand. The gentle weight of Merlin’s hand on his felt a thousand times heavier than the iron grip it had replaced.

“Merlin,” he said warningly.

“Why can’t you talk about this? God knows I usually can’t get you to stop holding forth about my life choices,” Merlin looked genuinely puzzled and the joke fell a little flat. “Is it actually a prude thing? You could have bloody fooled me with your penchant for parading around shirtless, although now that I think of it you certainly don’t get caught in flagrante with any ladies, unlike some of your knights I could mention.” Abruptly Merlin’s lips parted in surprise.

“Oh – you said – Uther – he – is it not ladies at all, then?” Arthur snapped his gaze back to Merlin, suddenly looking quite like his indignant self.

“I have no problem with the ladies, thank you, Merlin, they like me just fine.” He said loudly. Merlin opened his mouth again.

“And I like them! Honestly, Merlin, what is this, an interrogation?” Arthur paused. “Perhaps I don’t like them… exclusively,” he allowed. Merlin leaned back, seemingly satisfied, but a crease appeared between his eyebrows and Arthur clenched his jaw. Not done, then.

“Yes, I can imagine Uther taking that well,” he mused. Arthur grimaced a little. The crease between Merlin’s eyebrows deepened.

“But I’ve never noticed you with anyone, not since,” he thought about it, “my first year in Camelot, maybe?”

“Maybe I’m just more discreet than some of us,” Arthur shot at him.

“You wouldn’t know discreet if it bit you on the arse, my lord, and besides, you have no secrets from me.” Arthur stuck out his tongue, then shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

“There just hasn’t… been anyone else, that’s all.”

“Else?” Arthur tensed.

“Since whatsherface.” He made a vague gesture in the air. “With the -” He saw Merlin nod in recognition. “Who would have me, anyway?” he added, moodily. Merlin scoffed.

“Yeah, not a catch at all. Only an offensively good-looking member of the royal family, whatever would they see in you?” Arthur tilted his head.

“Offensively?” Merlin shot him daggers, obviously deeply regretting having said anything.

“As if your ego needs my help. Anyway, I’d fuck you, so,” Merlin cut him off before he’d even opened his mouth. “And no comments on my sluttish ways, thank you.” He sat back. “Well, mystery solved.”

“What mystery, pray tell, is that?” Arthur said tiredly.

“Why you’re being such a bastard,” Merlin replied cheerfully, “Jealousy.” Arthur looked briefly constipated but Merlin, distracted, continued. “It’s only natural to wish you were getting some, Sire. We can’t all have my good fortune. I’ll try to leave some of the staff with lower standards for you, shall I?” He patted Arthur’s hand, the fucker. He paused and looked at him, expecting a tongue stuck out or a cuff round the head, but froze for a second, taken aback by the naked affection and hint of sadness he saw in Arthur’s eyes. Arthur just laughed, a little strained. Forgetting himself, his eyes dropped to Merlin’s lips and he swallowed, smile fading. Merlin stopped dead and stared at him. Arthur, who thought he had reined in his dumb, lovestruck face admirably, shot him a quizzical look.

“Merlin, you look even more witless than usual. What is it now?” Merlin’s face had taken on a serious, determined cast.

“Tell me –” he paused, looking at Arthur with some urgency, now. “Tell me to stop, and I will,”

“What? Stop what?”

“Tell me you don’t want this, and we never have to talk about it again.”

“Does that offer apply to anything? Because I’ve been fucking longing to shut you up about –” Arthur faltered as Merlin placed his hand back on top of his and leaned forward. Arthur stopped breathing completely. Merlin paused, but at Arthur’s silence he closed the gap between them. Arthur could feel Merlin’s breath on his face, and a distant part of his mind remembered that he should probably do that, too. He couldn’t move, couldn’t close his eyes, couldn’t break the spell. Merlin’s soft, wine-stained lips touched his for a second, then pulled back. His eyes searched Arthur’s, and the corners of his mouth tugged up. Arthur exhaled.

“Close your eyes, you gormless idiot,” he said softly. Arthur did so without hesitation. Merlin let out a soft huff of amusement and brought his hand up to cup Arthur’s face, pressing their lips together with more certainty this time. Arthur started to kiss him back, but suddenly broke away to stand up, putting his hand behind Merlin’s neck. Merlin started to step back, worried, but stopped at the steadiness of Arthur’s hand and the slightly glazed look in his eyes. He grinned and reached up to hold Arthur’s wrist.

“Prat,” he said quietly. Arthur looked mildly affronted, as though this was really not the time. “All you ever had to do was ask, you know. You’ve never had any trouble telling me what you want before,” he teased. Arthur looked away with a tiny shake of his head.

“I couldn’t – it wouldn’t have been – I didn’t want you to feel as though –” Merlin cut him off and Arthur looked at him gratefully.

“I knew you couldn’t take a hint, but this is getting ridiculous. I’d like to get back to the kissing, if I may, sire.”

“Are you asking me or telling me? I’m not some blushing maiden, Merlin.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Merlin mumbled, and Arthur flicked him on the forehead.

“Go on, then, I suppose. Have at it,” Arthur gestured to himself, confidence back in full force but unable to fully banish the traces of a fond smile from his lips. Merlin rolled his eyes, muttered something about royalty and inbreeding and repression, and, well, had at it.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought! I've got some other ideas kicking about, so this could be the start of a loosely related series (don't come to me for real plot lol) or just the first of a few unconnected Merlin fics.
> 
> EDIT: yeah okay this can be a series now, they're not super connected, and they can definitely be read individually, but I'm going to go ahead and consider each one part of my own personal canon for the next. enjoy!
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](https://idlestories.tumblr.com/) under the same handle!


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